Lyrics CERTIFIED RAPPER PEOPLE! - CHRIST DILLINGER , ISSBROKIE

I got a stick all up in my belt (Yuh)
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay
Aim at his head, pop him with a beam
Bitch I be getting Karma, that's the team, like SSj Darki
Okay

Louis V on the tip
Louis V on the homies
Give your main bitch a nose bleed
My body be Opy
And my diamonds too went round my neck, they be soapy
I might fuck on your bitch and then crack open a soady
My balls on her face, that bitch a goalie
I got one bitch, just like Obi
I'm dripped out in yellow and purple, like Kobe
I sleep wit' a Glock, I don't get lonely
That boy on my cock, bouncin' below me
Man, he just wanna beef, none of these rap dudes know me
Man, you ain't droppin' heat I can see that for surely
Young Brokie be zootеd, I feel floaty
Nukes in my music, DJ Smokey
I got one gat, two gat, three gat, four gats
I keep thеm hoes, like trophies
That boy get packed, coyote
Shout-out to Dillinger, we got new Prada on
Fuck on yo' bitch, then I fuck on yo' mama-san
You rappers ain't eating, lil' bitch, like Ramadan
I fuck a bad bitch with no condom on
Wake up in the morning, where has my shawty gone
Shoutout to DJ Smokey I got him on
Red eyes on me all the time, like Sharingan
Transphobe leave my home, don't got it on
Lil bitch, I'm a motherfucking legend
I'm in a gang, my name embedded
I ain't finna say it to lames indebted

But if you's finna pay, do bank or credit
Bitch you are a lame, don't think I forget it
Without me Yo' ass ain't respected
I'm in the sweep, just like the Fresh Prince
Dillinger hop on this bitch for a second

I'll call you back just give me a second
Fakes blowing my phone the first and the second
Anything we do they gotta respect it
Put my old bitch on, she didn't expect it
Christ D and Brokie that's unexpected
Fuck the beat raw, then go get tested
Wake up in the morning then go get blasted
Put a bottle of Henny in my casket
Nigga I'm the plug, so who the hell Ima call
Just to cocaine out, like Rupaul
Sounded dope, so fast, like, what the Hell
Sippin so much drink, I stood up and I fell
Trappin so hard, need Microsoft to sell
Count up all the way from an eighth to a bell
Count up all the way to a mac from a dell
My ex be on my dick just like Adelle's
Like, hold on, let's get one thing straight
Reachin' my chain that's gon' get my irate
I could get half, quarter, a zip, or an eight
If you don't pay me, get shot in the face
Man's over there, he don't want me to stick
He gon' shoot you if you movin' too quick
By Thursday night, I'ma need the money
Not half the money, I mean the whole money
Who got lyrics? Think I need a thirty
Had to switch plugs 'cause my face dirty
Smoking in the crib ain't no mom's basement
Jump off on the plug, and, now, he chasin'
And my grandma, I honestly put her in a nursing home
Christ Dillinger, I'm the new wavy bone
USA was created by caucasians
Christ Dillinger got money like caucasians
Outside the bar, niggas stole my phone
Got more drugs than Post Malone